by Jana Barkley
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Acknowledgments
“Falconry is not a hobby or an amusement, it is a rage.
To Bind: seizing quarry with the feet in a crushing, gripping hold
To Bate: The wild jumping off or attempt to fly away while restrained
Red-tailed hawk: (Buteo jamaicensis) a large, broad-winged hawk capable of taking a wide variety of game; often an apprentice’s first hawk
To Fly at Check: To hesitate in pursuit of one quarry for another
Lure: The irresistible object swung by the falconer to call a game hawk back
Slip: Releasing a hawk to fly at flushed quarry
Sharp-set: A hawk that is ready to hunt
Rouse: The vigorous shaking of a hawks feathers; a sign of contentment
Mews: Structure used to house a falcon or hawk
Make-hawk: A seasoned, well-trained hawk flown with a young hawk to teach it to hunt
Passager: A wild hawk less than a year old, captured on its first migration
Jesses: The straps fastened to a trained hawk’s legs by which the falconer holds her
Preen: When a hawk straightens its feathers, oiling them with secretions from its preen gland
Out Back and Return: The reconnaissance flight of a hawk away and back to the glove
Creance: A long line attached to a hawk for training flights before it is flown free
Mantle: When a hawk crouches over her captured quarry to prevent theft from other predators
Fledge: A young hawk’s first free flight
Entering: Setting up a situation for a green hawk to pursue quarry it has never caught before
Waiting on: The act of a falcon circling above the falconer while waiting for game to be flushed
Rake away: When a hawk veers away from the quarry it is pursuing
Wedded: When a hawk prefers to chase only one type of quarry
Weathering: Perching a hawk out of doors to expose it to sun and fresh air
“Ho-ho-ho!”: The traditional cry of the falconer announcing game has been flushed
Made, or Made to: A “made hawk” is a fully trained hawk; used when referring to hood training, such as “made to the hood”
Fret mark: Weakened area in a hawkʼs feathers due to times of starvation or stress
Breaking in: Helping the hawk break through the skin of its captured prey to eat its food reward
Manning: habituating a wild hawk to the presence of the falconer
Make in: The falconer’s slow approach to a hawk when she is down on quarry
Throw up: The hawk or falcons sudden rise and hesitation mid-air after missing its quarry
Fistbound: A hawk that will not leave the glove to pursue its quarry
Pitch: The height at which the falcon waits above the falconer for game to be flushed
Stoop: The steep dive, usually of the falcon,
Ring up: When the falcon pursues her quarry upward in a spiral
Haggard: A mature, wild hawk, referred to in ancient falconry texts as impossible
Hood-shy: When a falcon avoids the hood out of fear or temper, usually from poor training
Cast: Two hawks flown together making it easier to subdue difficult quarry
Refuse: When a hawk will not chase the quarry she is supposed to fly after
Gamehawk: an accomplished, well-trained falconry bird who has successfully taken quarry
Duck hawk: An ancient name
Telemetry: Modern radio tracking device used to locate a missing hawk
Flicking: The flinging of food by a sick raptor, unable to eat and thrive
Dispersal: The wild raptor’s instinctual desire to migrate to new territory
Enseam: Feeding a hawk rangle (small stones)
Bells: Small bells worn by the hawk or falcon to alert the falconer to her presence in the field
Chapter Forty-Five
Thank you for purchasing this publication of The Wild Rose Press, Inc.
The Apprentice
by
Jana Barkley
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
The Apprentice
COPYRIGHT © 2014 by Jana Barkley
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
Contact Information: [email protected]
Cover Art by RJ Morris
The Wild Rose Press, Inc.
PO Box 708
Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708
Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com
Publishing History
First Mainstream Rose Edition, 2014
Print ISBN 978-1-62830-105-2
Digital ISBN 978-1-62830-106-9
Published in the United States of America
Dedication
For Frey hawk who stole my heart,
and Kid Currie who showed me how to soar.
Acknowledgments
This book would never have seen the light of day but for the tireless efforts of my agent and chief cheerleader, Andy Rodman. Much gratitude to him and his partner Bonnie Sanders.
Laura Kelly, my patient and brilliant editor, deserves credit for her enthusiasm and hard work under adverse conditions to bring this work to print.
I would also like to thank my "blood sister" Jennifer Hosterman, Kate Marden (my own Mary Kate), and Claire Sneddon for being the first to read and encourage me to persevere in this endeavor.
And as always I am grateful to my loving husband for his unending faith in me and my work with the birds.
“Falconry is not a hobby or an amusement, it is a rage.
You eat it, drink it, sleep it, and think it, even in recollection.”
T.H. White
To Bind: seizing quarry with the feet in a crushing, gripping hold
Chapter One
Pain is an inexorable teacher. It comes to all of us at the most unexpected and unwanted times. The hardest lesson is lasting with it, committing to it in spite of the baser instinct to flee. Something tells you that if you can endure this, you can withstand anything.
The pain searing through Samantha Leyton’s left hand felt like nothing she had ever experienced, and she had experienced a lot in the past two months. She made an innocent move, the simple gesture of lifting her hand to block the sun as she stood before the Birds of Prey exhibit at the Highland Scottish Games. The large raptor now crushing and puncturing her hand with its talons must have thought otherwise. All she saw was a flash of feathers and bewildered people moving out of the way, unsure if this was supposed to be happening—and there it was, perched on her upheld hand. Sam could have told them this was not part of the show.
Tears flooded her eyes as the bird’s crushing grip brought new waves of pain every time she moved, forcing her to hold still in spite of the organic urge to scream and shake the thing off. She fought to focus within, the way she’d learned to do at the hospital under the numerous pokings and proddings that had become routine, but a strange fascination compelled her to stare at the feathered monster holding her in its vice-like grip.
It was waiting for something, and in that terrible space of seconds, Sam realized it might reach for her face. Blood-red eyes, devoid of fear, bored into hers with an expression of complete ownership; she was its possession. A trickle of blood dripped from her hand, luring the hawk’s inte
rest back to its catch, its instinct no doubt to feed stronger than any fear it might have of her.
It had been easier living in a fog this past month, her thoughts and feelings registering like a cold and impersonal commentary in her head. But as the hawk reached down to pick at her wounded hand, she was no longer the spectator. Clarity rushed in, and she was thrust back into a world of sensation that threatened to make her lose consciousness.
Hands grabbed her elbows as someone from behind reached around to support her by the arms. She could hear people from the exhibit yelling, though by now she couldn’t distinguish what they were saying. A woman beside her with a golden retriever on a leash screamed at the sight of the blood.
“Damn it, Ralph! What the hell’d you tie that bird up with?” an angry man accused, and a flurry of men and women swirled to life around her from behind the display tables where other hawks and falcons sat perched. The bird’s wings came out and the hackles on its neck flared in agitation at their approach; perhaps it thought to keep them away from its prize.
“Someone get a towel,” said a husky-voiced woman who told her to hold still and it would be over soon. “Get a Goddam towel!” Another person ran up with a towel and flung it over the bird’s feet and her throbbing hand. Like when they took her blood at the hospital, she just wouldn’t look. Except nothing had ever hurt so much.
A gloved hand thrust a chunk of raw meat in front of the angry, squawking raptor, and Sam turned her face into the chest of the man who held her. The hawk shifted its grip in the act of releasing her, and she gasped as the last spasm of pain seared up her arm. Then it was over. The feeding monster stepped up onto the garnished glove, while someone lifted her up, over the display tables, and away from the frantic crowd.
They sat her down in a camp chair at the back of the exhibit. The arms that supported her from behind materialized into a tall, blond-haired man who knelt beside her. The woman with the husky voice crouched on the grass and applied pressure to Sam’s towel-wrapped hand.
“How’re you doin’?” The woman’s voice did not fit her small figure, nor did her strong, take-charge attitude. “What’s your name?”
It was hard to find a voice. “Samantha…Sam…” she said, embarrassed by correcting herself and her uncharacteristic hoarseness.
“Well, Sam, you did very well. I’m Mary Kate.”
More falconers milled around her, swallowing her in a sea of concerned faces, and she fought the urge to get up and bolt.
“Maybe we should call a doctor,” said a man.
The small woman waved them back. “For crying out loud. We’ve all been footed before. Just get the first aid kit and give us some space. Geez.”
“Footed? Is that what it’s called?” asked Sam, finally unclenching her uninjured hand to find purple grooves etched into her palm.
Mary Kate smirked. “Yeah. You’re not a real falconer until you’ve been footed.”
The man crouching next to her stood and swore. As he let go of her arm, she felt a new wave of pain and winced.
“Hold her steady, Hank.” Mary Kate’s admonishment brought him to his knees with a mumbled apology as he grasped her arm. He avoided her eyes and kept his own focused on the damage the bird had caused.
“Does this happen a lot?”
Her question earned a look from both of them. Mary Kate glanced at the man called Hank and continued talking in a voice Sam was sure she used on frightened animals.
“Yeah, it can. When you’re new—as a falconer.”
“But not to the general public?”
Mary Kate hesitated as she cleaned the punctures in Sam’s hand.
Noticing this, Sam said, “Don’t worry. I’m fine. Just help me wrap this up and tell me how to take care of it like one of you would.”
“Look, Sam,” said Mary Kate, “This has never happened before. It’s not supposed to—”
“Damned straight.” The silent, grouchy man called Hank chimed in, his eyes focused doggedly on her arm.
“Hank—”
“You know how I feel about these events. How I ever let you drag me into—”
“Hank.” Sam saw the fire in Mary Kate’s green eyes, warning him to be careful in front of the outsider.
“What went wrong?” Sam asked.
Hank turned full on to glare at her. He was angry, and if she had been made of less stern stuff she would have sworn it was anger aimed at her, but she knew better.
Before they could brush her question aside, she asked again. “What happened? How did it get loose, and why did it land on me?”
Mary Kate took a deep breath and Sam watched her struggle with how much information she wanted to share. She’d worked with people enough to know the woman was worried about a possible lawsuit.
Sam’s soft laugh surprised them both. “Please don’t worry. I’m fine. But I want to know. Why did it do that?”
“The goshawk was tied poorly,” said Mary Kate. “It got loose and must have seen you raise your hand like a falconer would, but with a glove, of course.”
“Of course.”
“It’s odd that it flew to a stranger. Most of our birds will fly only to someone they know.”
“Bad imprint.” Hank’s voice was a growl.
Mary Kate groaned and shook her head as if to say, here we go again.
Sam couldn’t help herself and rounded on him. “What’s an imprint?”
Her question startled him back into eye contact with her. He had to be in his late forties. His bushy blond hair and the deep lines carved into his weathered face spoke of many years outdoors. Remote: it was the perfect description for him. His blue-grey eyes could cut through bullshit and hide behind an icy veil with equal agility, she was sure.
“Is it a bird that’s been raised by humans?”
He raised an eyebrow but remained stubborn and silent.
“I see. Then a ‘bad imprint’ is a hawk that has been raised…incorrectly?”
“Something like that,” Mary Kate replied.
Sam’s eyes fell to the puncture wounds in her hand. It still ached, but she opened and closed it with fascination.
“So this is how they kill…”
Mary Kate laughed, and Sam realized how inane she must sound.
“I know it’s silly, but I’d never thought about it before.”
The bleeding had stopped, and Mary Kate swabbed the swollen punctures with an iodine solution. Hank retreated to a scrub oak five feet away, where he stood with his arms crossed. He stared at her until two falconers approached, and she noticed a wall of ice descend over his worn, hard face. Fascinated by this character, she wanted to watch him, but the others demanded her attention. What a shame. He was intriguing. Her years in a marketing career had developed her bent for reading people and understanding what made them tick. His eyes locked onto hers again, expressionless and impregnable, and then he scowled and walked away.
Nice to meet you too.
A petite woman next to her, who radiated high energy and had natural good looks chirped, “Hi, I’m Karen. Are you okay?”
“I’ll survive.” Sam smiled to convince them, surprised to feel at ease under the circumstances.
“The first time I got footed was by a large female red tail. Lord, was she a big hawk. All of fourteen hundred grams,” said Mary Kate. “You don’t understand the power these guys have until they take it out on you. Like most apprentices, I had to learn real quick how to deal with the pain and not let it happen again.”
“I don’t think I knew you back then. Did you do your whole apprenticeship with her?” Karen pulled up a camp chair and settled in to talk.
Mary Kate shook her head. “Naw. I finished my second year with that rascal male, Jasper. Remember? You saw him take jacks when everyone else said he was too small.” She chuckled as she applied the last piece of tape to Sam’s bandage. “Good as new—or it will be in a day or two, Sam.”
“When I got footed last year, it got pretty infected. John had to take me to
the hospital—”
“Now that’s just what Sam wants to hear, how you ended up in the hospital.”
Karen laid a hand on Sam’s knee and leaned closer. “Don’t worry, Sam. I had a reaction to the medication they gave me. I’m hypersensitive to most drugs. You’ll be fine.”
Mary Kate shook her head with wide-eyed exasperation that spoke of years of amiable abuse.
Sam took in her surroundings with curious eyes. Like a kid in the back seat of her parents’ Chrysler, gazing at the lighted windows of strange houses at night as they drove by. The windows beckoned with intimacy and hinted at the stories of the people within. This had been a game she played as her parents drove down the back roads of the Chicago suburbs to visit family, and it had carried over to her early adolescence when the family moved to California. Sometimes she’d get her folks in on the game, making up stories about who lived in that farmhouse or what had happened here to make the farmer leave his tractor derelict and forgotten in a fallow field. And as the sun set and Sam’s eyes were overwhelmed by row after row of crops whizzing by so fast they seemed like long, spindly legs running to keep up with their car, she always felt sad. It was the loneliness of the outsider. Sensing that feeling now reminded her of the gaping hole in her heart.
She glanced down at her aching hand. This kind of pain was honest, a sensation she could understand and sit with in the moment without fear of falling apart.
While they chatted under the scant shade in the falconry exhibit area, no one suggested her continued presence was an intrusion, and Sam was reluctant to break the spell. A lull in their conversation might have been her cue to leave, but a newcomer distracted her.
Sam sat forward, amazed. This bird was the largest she had ever seen up close.
Karen and Mary Kate followed her gaze to a young girl carrying an enormous hawk.
“Chelsea, come meet Sam.” Mary Kate waved to the girl, who couldn’t have been older than seventeen or eighteen. She grinned at Sam’s amazement. “This is a red-tailed hawk, Sam. She’s a female; that’s why she’s so big.”
“Hi, guys.” Chelsea smiled, one eye on her friends and the other on her gigantic charge. The hawk was huge in contrast to the girl’s slender arm.